


Madness of Mind; Kindness of Soul; My Heart is a Hole

by Akumaloligirl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depressing, Diary, Drabble, Drabbles, Fantasy, Horror, Journal, Mentions of Suicide, Milking, Other, Poetry, Random - Freeform, Sad, biography, but its not totally graphic, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 32
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumaloligirl/pseuds/Akumaloligirl
Summary: Just don't take it seriously but some of this is actually a diary of mine, other parts are just random drabbles I thought up. A LOT of it is just poetry. I hope you enjoy it. SOMEONE PLEASE READ SOME PART OF IT AND COMMENT!





	1. The Ghost With Rose Eyes

Desiccated red rose petals of a child's eyes twinkling in soft light,

 

A softened resplendent voice that shrieks her bitter plight,

 

The blackened ash bleeding out the crooning of forgotten funeral dirges,

 

Crimes of sinful, deprav'd pleasures wept to immaculacy by purges,

 

A sickening diet of a child's emotional glutting long repressed,

 

The abandoned kitten's mewls for milk at dawn so depressed,

 

How each petals color is leeched away with each passing moment,

 

though she cried out for aid from the Angels no hope was sent,

 

in that moment of betrayal 'pon that weeping child of new feelings brung,

 

The ancient graveyard sorrow of dirges of old loudly, proudly sung,

 

In the moonlight a rose-eyed child was pillaged of her innocence,

 

Weeping tears of billowing empty smoke like alluring incense,

 

As dropped each Crimson bead she swore an oath that day,

 

As her rage bled out she proclaimed, "all men must pay",

 

The empty necks of the broken children were chopp'd clean,

 

She calls out to them beneath a bright bloody sheen,

 

Now in dread tormentors lay for the child of rose eyes,

 

Once in red were her petals now of a deathly black guise,

 

Necrotic flesh thumps upon unyielding earth,

 

'Tween crack'd missing teeth her smiling spreading equal measures of fear and mirth,

 

Did it happen once not but surely twice or more?

 

When living this girl had naught but youth otherwise poor,

 

She proclaim'd revenge 'pon men with such vehemence,

 

She their last view of foul-smelling abysmal magnificence,

 

Twinkling in her eyes the wicked rose lurks with grinning thorns,

 

Just as upon her tormentors' heads lays curling sharp horns,

 

Who will die by the merciless thorns of the decayed rose this night?

The end.


	2. Revelations of a Dying Man

His silenced thoughts have always been all for naught, 

 

In quiet torment his creativity kidnapped and caught,

 

Deepening sorrows,

 

Taint the hopes he had for tomorrow,

 

Traveling through this unknown land,

 

There is absent any helping hand,

 

And his dreams cave like a castle of sand,

 

Aspirations fading in and out through his mind,

 

Lost within a fog most unkind,

 

He thinks he'll never cut these tied binds,

 

He has gone too long without respite,

 

Yet desperate despite his calm determination,

 

Cruel words were shouted, 

 

Each one he stopped and counted,

 

With each one his uncertainty mounted,

 

Painful words have been spoken,

 

Until now these revelations never woken,

 

This darkness inside his only token,

 

And his spirit will cease its quivers,

 

Now his many shed tears have become rivers,

 

His pain endured despite his bleeding liver,

 

Trapped within the bondage of his silence,

 

His resolve withers under their verbose violence,

 

How taxing it had been that forced complacence,

 

Breathing swiftly dying to shortened lengths,

 

His struggles losing its strength,

 

Pain and thought and clarity all on the same wavelength,

 

The blood spills out all too swiftly,

 

His glazing eyes somehow piercing them eerily,

 

And with his dying breath in a voice so crackly,

 

"I am dying," he said,

 

As he bled,

 

And then, lay still and dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this poem is about a man who came from an abusive household. His whole life growing up he was always discouraged from anything he wanted to do and constantly had his confidence beaten down. So when he grew up he did not go to college, convinced he could never make something of himself and immediately entered the workforce. To combat the stress he felt working in a field he hated, he became and alcoholic. And one night he was drunk and went out for a drive. And while he didn't injure anyone else, he was throw through his windshield. And as he lay there waiting for an ambulance, he realized all this time what his life was really like, that he had the potential to have made something of himself. But sadly he died before he could do anything to fix it.


	3. Chess is Never Just A Game To The Pawns

The ash-streaked crown on the king's head,

 

Emitting rays of hopelessness,

 

Across the despotic battlefields of the chessboard,

 

Rusted sceptor clutched tight between dread-whitened knuckles,

 

Bloodstained pawns laying mauled across rows of squares,

 

In the rough-hewn centre of the marble board,

 

Liquid fire spirals a symphony of bright sparks of a lost war,

 

Fallen eyes no longer look to the horizon,

 

The queen compromised on behalf of a mad King,

 

Assured of triumph but greeting a shattering loss,

 

The war overtook but to the fallen pawns,

 

This was never "only a game".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this poem can take on two separate meanings. The first is only slightly more literal in that it can be about war. How those who strategize might not always allow themselves to take into consideration that the soldiers fighting are real people. They aren't just assets to be gained and loss at the signing of a contract. The second reason is about bullying. You have the kings and queens that start hurting others, and the pawns in these cases are those that are lower on the totem pole, being forced to bully others even if they might not want to. Take it as you will.


	4. The Second World

the unholy melancholy of this chemically induced stupor where I dwell,

 

In this place filled with kindred denizens of hell,

 

This hell more pleasurable than the one I was born into,

 

Where so many dreams were constantly shattered and options too few,

 

no no child should be forced to adapt to the circumstance of my birthplace,

 

In this house of horrors where hundreds of children vanish without a trace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poem is quite sad. Trigger warnings for this one. This poem is about a girl who, unlike the other children brought to this place, was born into a house that operates as a black market. The other children are bought for various reasons and sold. She is the daughter of one of the owners and while she is not completely sane, despite all that she has seen, her heart was never de-sensitized to the miserable children that were kidnapped into her house. And eventually she turned to drugs to cope with what was going on around her since she felt like she could never escape. And she eventually died of an overdose. But she felt so guilty, her spirit lingered and she remained in that house, watching over the misery as a punishment to herself for never doing what she should have in life.


	5. Anxiety

Fists tightly clenched,

my heart feels like it's held in an iron grip,

by this I'm crippled,

it's too late; my anxiety has just tripled,

palms balmy and moist,

now I'm faced with a choice:

fight or flight?

Trust in my sight,

give in to my fright,

or fight and along the way,

my destiny will come to light,

my head in pounding,

their war cry is sounding,

soon in my emotions I am drowning,

I try to call for help,

but I can't make a sound,

tortured; left silent; I want to be found,

my heart is racing,

my fears need facing,

I must act,

this is a fact,

but I just can't over my fear,

feels like death is drawing all too near,

I shed a tear,

please come here and save me,

all the memories of my last slip into view,

on a single moment, 

I leave only a sob as my comment,

it is horrible,

but now I know;

death is lonely...so!

I can't give into my fear,

I must persevere,

fight or flight?

I choose to fight,

I will,

make this,

right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically this poem is about me having a panic attack over me becoming an adult.


	6. Please

please hate me,

so I have someone other than myself to hate,

please love me,

so I know what that feels like,

please kill me,

so I don't have to know these things


	7. Moral Decay

in the foul-feasting hearts of the giant rabid dog within,

there is one who howls of morals like honeyed words,

dripping with scornful falsehoods from a defecation-sucking mouth,

denying its base nature precariously even to those who know truth,

through the eyeless sockets leaking writhing maggots,

maps the plains of existence know only to those who lay in scum-lined alleyways


	8. Never Eternity

never is the one concept that shall last into the ends of forever,

 

endings that bring about contented satisfaction,

 

was as the myth that poor besotted man was told in comfort,

 

to stage off a worsened kind of reaction,

 

true victory will always remain unachieved by man who is violent,

 

eternal life will always remain a curse all men regret attaining,

 

reason os without logic to creatures that sin and tempt in turn,

 

humanity's broken clocks are what the Angels are purveying,

 

mother verification of this truth when murder is a common variable,

 

Order is an illusion to keep the very real anarchy at away at knifepoint,

 

Puzzles, futile questions without answers, mysteries not to be solved,

 

there is is a reason why in life the effort is futile to find life's point,

 

every one of these are examples of an unknown but unmistakable truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meaning: waiting sucks.


	9. This Poison

Silence, wearing my heart into charcoal,

Few happy memories left in the ashes sparkle,

Dreams, tearing the wings off the butterfly,

So that the love of myself will never reach the sky,

Demands, errant beliefs corrupting innocence,

Hate perfumes the air with lavender-blossom incense,

Facile, Machiavellian plots recorded in my mind,

Protecting those that are evil and have never been kind,

Diffidence, chaining the beast within just to anger it,

The helpless beast wearing a giant silk target,

This is all but a test of temptation,

In an effort to clear the fury infestation,

Will I give in to this madness?

Can I transcend past it all, even the sadness?

Disappointment, this is how we know love,

Never forget the symbolism of the wedding dove,

Mercy, lay within the coffin of murder,

Grief is the grease stoking the wheels spinning or furor,

Beneath the torrential downpour of hatred and misanthropy,

Never allowing our trusted ones to know us on a level laposcopy,

Tumult, the mob decides all course of action to fend fate useless,

The masses always ignoring the pleas of those under real duress,

Damage, thus our minds falter in times of need,

The diseased minds impregnate and spread their seed,

Defilement, it plays piano to the tune of debase necessities,

Never letting us venture further to question discrepancies,

Temptation, forces fear out of the system to do what is wanted,

Just so those that we've harmed and murdered can keep us haunted.


	10. My (Actual) Diary Entry #1

dear readers,

 

sometimes I feel as though my mind is empty. It clears out and I can't talk right. Can't quite put my thoughts into words. Like someone's plucking my thoughts out of my head. Everything's cluttered and my emotions feel all runny, like my emotions were an egg yoke someone suddenly popped and out they pour. My body lightens and I feel all floaty. Like my soul is trying to rise up. It's hard to explain. I wonder why.


	11. The Sweet Little Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Drabble I might continue if enough people are interested.

The sound her shoe made as it scraped across the sand, cleaving small valleys as she seung back and forth on her swing, was calming. She clutched at the chains maintaining the swing tightly, brow knitting together. Sasha did not want to go home. Not to the screaming and the soft pleas that fell like a litany from her mother's lips beneath the heavy fist of her father. 

Sasha shook her head, tilting it up to view the my with a sigh. A vast abyss spread before her, endless stars barely twinkling through the city smog. Cold curled around her fingers, reminding her that when she had fled her house of horror, she neglected to bring her jacket. Her small body shivered and her head flopped to her chest as a shuddering breath left her, exhaling out as a wisp of white smoke. Moisture collected within her eyes but she refused to let the tears fall. 

"Be a brave girl," her mother always said. "Never let people know how much it hurts." Such were the words of wisdom her mother gave, though she often neglected to follow her own advice. 

Sasha did not want to return to her home. She preferred the harshness of winter biting against her skin, turning her pale with cold than the stinging hopes of her father's drunken fists. But there was little she could do to remedy her situation. In those days, child social services were of no help to anyone. And she had no other relatives. Her mother was deathly afraid of her father. So what could she do? She was nothing more than a little girl, not yet eight. 

She gnawed her lip between her slightly crooked teeth and thought, a lol of concentration filling her expression. Her fingers clinked against the chainlink holding up the swing and dug her feet purposeful in the sand. 

And then she had an idea


	12. Diary Entry #2

lately, everything is all hazy. I can't think straight and I'm more easily distracted than usual. My thoughts are kind of everywhere and I'm shifty. Always moving a part of my body; a foot, a hand, running fingers through my hair. It doesn't stop. Because when I stop I'm bowled over by this, this feeling! And I don't like this feeling. I can't quite give it a name. But I don't like it. And I don't want want. It sucks.


	13. King

lion--sovereign of my heart,

with regal roars that shatter the air,

formidible claws rake against freshly turned earth,

lion's roars trigger thunderclaps,

tearing air and heart asunder,

my love, my king, my lion


	14. Fading in Static

by the fabrications of my enemies,

i see all things in monochrome,

at the hands of my heroes,

away fades all guiding light,

once they would have saved me,

now they can't even save themselves,

they don't realize,

It's me they see,

Watching them fade into mediocrity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this poem is about children's relationship with their parents. At first, kids see their parents as all-knowing gods, but as time passes they see the truth: that mommy and daddy are just like any other person walking down the street. They are heroes, they aren't all knowing. They aren't gods. There people. They'll lie and make mistakes. And it's sad. And we don't like coming to this revelation but all children must. That's what this poem is about


	15. Diary Entry #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was really frustrated that day.

Sad and lonely today. What else is new? But whatever, right? No one cares so suck it up. Ugh. Bye bye readers.


	16. Depravity Devoure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More drabbles

Everyone calls me Victorian. As in, the Victorian Era. That's not really my name. My actual name is Victor-Ian (both are my first; please take note of the hyphen) but it's sounds close enough and the enunciation that dinstinguishes my name separately is too hard to use when speaking quickly. So I don't mind that people call me Victorian. 

Funny thing is though, people started calling me that as a tease. I think they thought it was clever and girly enough to bother me. Shows what they know. If they'd have done their research, it would have shown that men had a lot of power during those times, so calling a man that is more or less a compliment. At least, in my opinion. Not many people ask for it, so I guess they never realized that. 

There's more to me than names (and my clever sarcasm that's on par with the gods), of course. If there wasn't, and all that was strange about me was my name and my ability to make myself look like an idiot through my attempts at humor, then I wouldn't have eventually found myself staring at corpse in my basement. 

Though, this is what I had once believed to be the middle of my story and there is no way of understanding anything right now, let me be clear on this; never in my life have I performed the dirty deed that is known as murder. Of course, that doesn't mean that I didn't help. But I'm not a killer. I'm just a mama's boy. That kind of gives away who exactly is the bad one in this case. Well, not that accessory to murder can really be much more moral than an actual murderer, but...

I realize that I've made mistakes, and how far off course my life has gone. I won't follow the standard and say "it seems like forever since I was a normal idiot twenty something year old". I'm better than that, I think. Worth more, you know? When I really think about myself, I'm not sure if I've ever been "normal". Not really. I think I've always been a bit off.


	17. Diary Entry #4

"life happens, life moves on, so get over it." I tell myself that when things get really bad. It doesn't really work.


	18. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, drabbles again! Yay...(she says sarcastically)

The sun was blue. It was a remarkable sight and to see it rise and set, casting the normally black sky in lightened shades of dusty cerulean must glorious. The gorgeous sun--darkened in the centre where the most heat rested and lightened in rayed edges than the indigo core--laid proudly amidst the thickened clouds. 

But this was a foolish, dull observation. The sun is and always has been blue. And yet...Nemza stared up through the cracks between shielding fingertips at the sun as if it were her first time gazing upon it. Most would look at the sight of an almost woman staring with such fervor, with such surprised my at the sight of the sun and simply laugh at her. For surely she could not be the picture of sobriety at that moment to stare so with such awe. 

But this was in fact Nemza's first time seeing the sun. Never in her fifteen years had she ever set her eyes on the blue sun that gave little light to the darkened realm of Ever. This was her first time seeing it, and Nemza could not help but wonder, with sadness heavy in her heart, if this would also be her last. 

She pulled away from the railing of the balcony reluctantly, fingers removed from her face as she slowly turned away from the magnificent sight. Her arms slowly dropped to her sides and a regretful breath left her in a silent sharp puff.


	19. Diary entry #5

I'm sick. Sore throat and stuffed up nose. It's pretty miserable. But I almost enjoy coughing into my pillow and the sniffly sighs and breathing through my nose. Now in no way is this conventionally enjoyable. But my angry side, the one that drives me to hurt myself, makes me love being sick. Because then I'm suffering. And I need to suffer. I don't know why I need to suffer but...

 

I do lots of things to make myself suffer but make no mistake: I'm in no way masochistic. I'm sadistic and mean and horrible. I don't LIKE suffering. It's just something I should do. That probably doesn't make sense. But no one is reading this. Because no one cares.


	20. More drabbles

Jessamynn stood at the edge of still pool. Droplets of silvery water ran in rivulets down a Memory Stalacite. Drip drop drip drop, rippling the translucent surface. She approached the pool, tips of her toes just barely making contact with it. Peering downward, she unable to see down to the bottom. 

"Do it," whispered a voice deep within her subconscious. A shudder courses through her entire body, rippling her limbs as the water did. She stopped down and cupped her hands it o the water, lifted to her lips and drank. 

She screamed as the liquid slid down her throat. Reveled in the pain. Head thrown back. 

Suddenly her head snapped back down and a twisted sort of smile pulled up the corners of her lips. And she was changed for the worst.


	21. diary Entry #6

So imagine this. My mother just had a baby and I am a virgin. It's eleven at night and I'm all alone. My shirt is wet around my boob. I'm thinking "what the hell?" One thing to another, and I'm squeezing milk out. IT WAS TERRIFYING! I'm running to my mom's room and screaming at her "I'M PREGNANT! I'M PREGNANT!" It took a while before I calmed down enough for my mother to explain to me that I was in fact still un-deflowered and that woman can start milking when constantly around a person who had a baby. I repeat; it was terrifying. But I'm laughing now. So, anyone want to buy some breast milk?


	22. Agony

Something torn from his body, bits of flesh sticking, moist and wrong-scented, to something sharp. Serrated, catching the light in all the wrong ways, flashing just outside his vision, lurking... Never knowing when it will connect with soft, yielding flesh. The sounds of screams and pounding. The pounding and pounding and pounding! Over and over without end. Why won't it stop, just...

"Just make it stop." A burn. Boiling flesh bubbling, new blisters forming onto top of the swollen festering old ones. The crackle and pop of flesh, a stench sharp and infesting the nostrils that were torn open. 

"I can't. It's too much." Shrieking all around, voices not his own. Ringing and conjoining and echoing. "Just stop it. Please!" A whimper, quieter than the others before growing to unimaginable volume, aided by agony. "Oh no, that's...--! Please, I'm begging you. I can't bare it anymore." A ripping sound. Skin. Loosened. Hanging. Sensitive to the very air blowing over it, raw and open, ripping and torn. Gaping flaps of skin on the belly, exposing the white pearl of bone. "I can't! I can't! Please just kill me. No more. No more."

A mantra, repeated over and over even after removal of the tongue and tonsil and vocal cords. On and on it droned in his head. Without end, and as the pain continued, beginning to blur into an orb of white, all indiciferable. Unknown.


	23. Copper

In the delirium of a rusted metal forest,

 

I listen to the windy chorus,

 

I gaze at scorched trees,

 

With trembling branches that touch and tease,

 

With a tormented doe-eyed expression of innocent contempt,

 

With emptiness to tempt,

 

Oiled dew collected on leaves,

 

Running slick through sieves,

 

Of brass and copper, 

 

Like a lost frog hopper,

 

Here there is a bird's call of silence filled the air,

 

This peace that found me is so rare,

 

The cages of man's mind slowly wind down,

 

Cavern of mind empty of sound leave me to drown,

 

Past the graveyard of apathy,

 

Thrumming with questions of theology,

 

Abandoned thoughts make roost for winter,

 

Listen to the cries of this sinner,

 

Platonic passion slumbering in a grey heart,

 

Heartbreak done and hate ready to start,

 

This is the fruit of the manmade metal tree.


	24. Fallen

Hear this plea,

please hear the words coming from me

I wail and I fail as I go through my day

I can no longer be persuaded to stay 

I've lost my way 

I've fallen

Lend me a hand back up

Because I'm stuck

Down and outta luck

Traversing through the muck

I've fallen

Lend me a hand back up

My heart is ready to erupt.


	25. Love and Hate

My love for you is as unpredictable as a heroin high,

My love just isn't enough to help you get by,

I lick open your wounds that I meant to heal,

My love is there in those bruises and cuts you feel,


	26. Apology

I'm sorry for all that I said,

 

I don't even know if I meant it then,

 

I'm sorry now that you're dead,

 

I want you to know how sorry I am,

 

before pop pop goes the emotional dam,

 

I hope you know I really mean it.


	27. Bravery

He pressed the knife to her throat and forced her to do things she'd never done before,

 

Things that made her scream so loudly and left her more than just sore,

 

And her slick blood dribbled down the insides of supple thighs,

 

The alleyway soon deprived of her screams and replaced with sobbed "why?"s,

 

Her hands stained in the claret color of death as she looked helplessly around,

 

At the corpse and shards of shattered glass lying spread on the ground,

 

Fill your veins with the iodine once used to purify the wounds he gave her,

 

Faced with death like this and she has never been braver.


	28. Humanity's Stain

Draw you in my web of lies,

 

the he corpses fed on by the flies,

 

conscious us of a fallen conscience,

 

screaming "no!" In defiance,

 

let's break our alliance,

 

stoke the fires of a riot,

 

humanity just can't fight it,

 

There's a lock to the key,

 

the good won't ever go free,

 

this i guarentee,

 

stuffed with misconceptions,

 

confused by these interuptions,

 

white knight shining interrogates,

 

my morality evaporates,

 

my corruption infiltrates,

 

humanity's stain is on you,

 

humanity's stain is on me too


	29. Bled

by the words they said,

their fate--they made their bed,

all emotion drained away,

from all the things they did not say,

every drop of compassion,

bleed dry all the rations,

mane all the bruises of loneliness,

paint the perfect picture of loveliness,

in the place an emptiness sprung down,

a king without even crown,

blanketed by this dreadful apathy,

blinded by the greed of antipathy,

i was complacent in my skin,

always assured I would win,

not happy nor in love,

releasing wartime doves,

All people become a mystery,

All memories lost to history,

i become less than before,

mans yet so much more,

than simply human.


	30. Apocolypse

The sun scorched the tarmac, enough heat cast on the pavement to cook an egg. The road was littered with cars, metal corroded and bleached white from the villainous sun. Grass broke through the fissures into the ground, sprouting up like small rays of hope in the end times.   
It was all death. Everything wiped away. Humanity had cleared its history and emptied its trash bin. Now nothing but plants yet lived. Several new trees were cropping up, young little saplings with fruit no one would taste. For everything else lies dead.


	31. Diary entry #7

I was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder.


	32. Diary entry #who the fuck cares

I realize that whenever I get too lonely I shout. Loudly. To no one in particular. About what I'm looking at or reading or watching. Remarking, "I love that but you know...," or "I hate that character. Just go an die. But you know..." Who am I talking to, I wonder? The "They" that everyone talks about. They say, they don't, they will... All those supposed people. The mass. Is that who I'm talking to? I don't know. But it sucks and I'm lonely. Yet being close to people terrifies me. I almost made a friend but then something happened and now I'm just annoyed and apathetic. Which makes me feel pathetic. I so desperately crave something. I have the power to sieze it. But I don't. Why?


End file.
